


Sam Wilson's Life

by Kare



Category: Captain America (Movies), Deadpool - All Media Types, Spider-Man - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, Winter Soldier (Comics), X-Men (Movies)
Genre: Sam's life became hell, when did his home turn into a safe house?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-06
Updated: 2015-04-06
Packaged: 2018-03-21 15:11:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,120
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3696983
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kare/pseuds/Kare
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I found a prompt on Tumblr:<br/>http://marvelwritingprompts.tumblr.com/post/101435600633/swirlyink-terapsina-someone-needs-to-write-a</p><p>It is brilliant.<br/>I had to do it.</p><p>(Also, I have no tumblr. If anyone feels inclined to link this for me, that be grand...)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sam Wilson's Life

**Author's Note:**

> So.. that was a way to short but partly productive weekend. It won't happen again... for some time.
> 
> I hope you enjoy.
> 
> Be warned though: English is not my first language. I might have liberally applied concepts that work in my language but not in English. And everyone I subtly asked to Beta ran the other way... so... I really hope you enjoy it anyway.

Ever heard this “No good deed ever goes unpunished”?

 

Because somehow this has become Sam Wilson’s Life.

 

Not that it was all sunshine and roses before. Far from it. And if he is honest he actually likes his new life. Just not… you know… not all the time while he is actually living it.

 

I mean… you did hear about the Pontimac, right? Big building. Coming down. Lots of damage. Liberty saved. A lot of people not killed… two very big helicarriers not in the sky.

 

It was all over the news. You definitely heard of it.

 

Well… that had basically become every other Tuesday.

 

Someone - and it had to be Steve, because Natasha favored to more direct ‘Expect yourself to be dead by Wednesday. You can be scared now.’ approach - had obviously lauded Sam through the high heavens and back… I mean: come on, credit were credit is due. He had played a part in saving the earth. And he had made very little fuss about it… all things considered.

 

But that didn’t mean he expected people to turn up at his door at all hours of the day.

 

And it had crept up on him. They had not even been straight forward about it.

 

* * *

 

The first one had been Coulson.

 

You’ve seen the man?

 

He might as well have modeled himself on Agent Smith. You know, Matrix?

 

Anyway.

 

Steve had lauded Sam. Agent Coulson came to check him out.

 

Probably more for a routine-like security check then anything else.

 

But Sam got that.

 

So he was a kind specimen. He listened to the questions. Answered them in accordance with his security level and common knowledge. Even offered the other a glass of water - which remained untouched.

 

All was fine.

 

Hoops passed.

 

That the other guy had a sense of humor and - gasp - required nutrition like the rest of humanity became only apparent after the third visit. And Sam tried very hard not to think about how they had gotten that far.

 

* * *

 

Next - and that really sat the bar - came Hulk.

 

No, scratch that, next came HULK.

 

He didn’t even try to bring the big guy in. Or to shush him down.

 

His “HULK HUNGRY!” probably resonated through the entire street.

 

Sam may or may not have stood there gaping.

 

There might have been a repeated “HUNGRY”

 

The “And what exactly does a big green dude eat?”… turned out to be too complex. Or at the very least got Hulk roaring loud enough to be heard by the entire block.

 

Okay, keep it simple. “EAT WHAT?”

 

Apparently marshmallows and tea can sustain the big guy… if you got it in big enough quantities. Which meant he now had to re-stock his Halloween resources - regularly. But that had been a small price to pay.

 

Sam had seldom been as glad in his life as when the overgrown dude started to shrink back to a more normal size.

 

So it did mean putting up with a naked Banner.

 

But at least now his hearing stood a chance.

 

And that one really had sat the bar to what he was willing to put up with without batting an eye… or maybe without batting it too often.

 

* * *

 

By now he really had met all of the Avengers and even some people who had not yet been accepted as a part of the team.

 

Actually, all things considered, having a human spider on your wall… isn’t as bad as it sounds.

 

Sam’s apartment wasn’t the biggest. And at least the guy could always move out of the way. And talking to the ceiling stops feeling weird after the first 15 minutes.

 

Plus: sense of humor. That really wasn’t the worst visit of all.

 

The wall crawler still wasn’t all that enthusiastic when - after he had told a story about a promise to the dead that boiled down to 'never kill a human being' - Sam cautioned him against joining the Avengers or S.H.I.E.L.D. … or recommended at the very least to read the job add carefully.

 

* * *

 

So yes, he also met Bucky.

 

He found him one evening on his couch, watching the door in a kind of… distant fashion.

 

Sam had become so used to… _this_ , he only realized the other man was there when he was already halfway to the kitchen. (About 10 steps into his apartment.)

 

When he paused and at least considered a panic attack the other soldiers only comment was an - actually valid - “If I were here to kill you you would be dead by now.”

 

Point taken.

 

Sam made a mental note to sit down and examine just were his life had gone wrong… and then proceeded to help a very elliptical man to find a birthday present for Steve.

 

Not just any present - because otherwise Bob Ross would have done - but rather a ‘I am sorry I tried to kill you, but this is your birthday and I want to show you that I still want us to be friends, even if it might take me years to get better again’ present… at least that was about the scope Sam tried for… after everything else had been rejected.

 

Sam still wasn’t sure how his “You know, basically he just wants a physical proof you still exist” had led to the other man gifting Steve with a curl of his hair.

 

But Steve had brawled his eyes out over it and had fiercely protected it against onlookers… so… there… not the worst result a sleepless night could bring, right?

 

He wasn’t sure when exactly he had qualified as a relationship consultant. But part of him wished he hadn’t.

 

* * *

 

By the time the X-Man made it to his door, he did not even ask anymore.

 

If you open your front door and there is a woman levitating above your floor, near the telly, in a standing kind of fashion and she is wearing green clothes and gloves and wears a prominent white streak in her hair… and prefers to not give people her hand in greeting… it is still a good idea to offer her a drink - for the short dude with three very impressive knifes hidden in each of his forearms… is going to calm a lot faster when she assures him she has been treated like a lady.

 

Which could partly be the reason why Sam omitted his wish for them to remember to knock the next time…

 

But let’s be honest: with people like Nightcrawler knocking was only for show anyway.

 

* * *

 

And those… had been the harmless ones.

 

* * *

 

The first inkling, that he might have landed himself in real trouble was… Thor.

 

Yes, Thor.

 

“Son of Wil!” and it did take him so long to puzzle that one out, that by the time Thor finished his “Steve has been speaking of you highly. Dost thou wish to accompany us on a Bilchschwein-hunt to save my brother?” … Sam was still so thrown by the first three words, that he only realized he might have given his consent by staying quite for too long… when Thor forcefully dragged him out of the door.

 

Pro tip: if you are ever invited to a Bilchschwein hunt… decline.

 

If things really can’t be helped: try to stay at the side lines.

 

Because even with wings it is no fun to fly through rows upon rows of trees and try to not get killed by things that come in the size of a small house and have the speed of a race car.

 

It took their combined effort and more than 3 hours for a singled out Bilchschwein to finally fall down and die.

 

They all looked like they had taken repeated mud baths. But… yeah… success.

 

Or so Sam toughed.

 

He stood beside Thor, keeping his voice down as he asked the next important questions: “So, how many of these things do we need to kill to save your brother?”

 

Thor looked slightly amused. “Well… _need_ … basically none.”

 

“But…” Sam gestured to the huge heap of dead, animal shaped meat in front of him.

 

“The goal is to survive. We fight for honor.”

 

Okay, that really begged the question: “Thor? Where are the others?”

 

Thor looked almost puzzled. “For some reason they couldn’t make it on time.”

 

And Sam couldn’t blame them for that. Really. The best way out of that seemed to be… to just… ask something practical. “So, how are we going to transport this thing?”

 

“Transport?”

 

“Well, this is meat, surely.”

 

“No. It’s poisonous. No one in his right mind would eat it.”

 

Beer. Sam _desperately_ needed a beer after that sentence.

 

And Thor was about to urge him on, maybe kill another one - this had been a rather prestigious hunt after all - and to celebrate the victory… after another two or three at-least-wounded Bilchschweins…

 

“Thor?”

 

“Yes, Son of Wil?”

 

“We almost got killed killing a thing that was hell bend on killing us first. And you are eager to do it again.”

 

And Thor was. “We hadn’t such a glorious hunt in ages.”

 

“How is this going to safe your brother?”

 

It turned out Loki needed saving from marriage. So he could later agree on the bride anyway, but out of his own free will. A bachelor party. Sam had almost gotten himself killed on a bachelor party. Of a groom-to-be he did not even know.

 

And Sam’s invitation had something to do with showing of ones allies or some such…

 

Deeeeep breath.

 

Because one doesn’t argue with a demigod.

 

It just isn’t healthy.

 

Then again it could not be any more unhealthy then staying, or accidentally insult the bride-to-be… or to set ones foot into any more metaphorical bear-traps. And after all he had gathered about the local chorus girls… there were things he really did not need to be around for.

 

“Thor?”

 

“Yes, Son of Wil?”

 

“I didn’t plan for this. I have a paid job in the morning. One from which they will fire me if I am late. And it will honestly complicate my life if that happens. Can I _please_ go home?”

 

* * *

 

There might have been a visit involving Deadpool _and_ Spiderman. That came in on a close second to the worst visits of all time.

 

* * *

 

The absolute worst visit of all time came down to Clint. And it had not even been their fault… not exactly.

 

Sam had gotten away in the end. With a Bilchschwein-horn-orchestrated-slowly-healing-scar on his right shoulder.

 

Apparently a great honor as well as a sign that he was now no longer a boy but a real warrior… or some such.

 

Most of all it itched like hell.

 

And with said itch he would only put on the suit if someones life depended on it. Someones _real_ life. Not just his married one.

 

So when Clint finally came, to demand a show of the wings… from bird-eye to bird, so to speak… Sam declined.

 

And it was fine.

 

Up to the third beer and the first movie things were fine.

 

Or at least a lot finer then the last week. Or the week two months before… or…

 

Cause you try living with an itch from Asgard and one Tony Stark who has somehow managed to get his girlfriend to throw him out of the tower, to have his driver on vacation - and Rhodey had been here too, Sam understood the mans tendency to vacate often - and a Tony Stark who is strangely disinclined to discuss why Jarvis will not let him back in… in short: a moody multimillionaire who is hell bend on turning your living room into a work shop and expects you to provide an endless stream of coffee, loud metal and witty banter…

 

Yeah, after a week of that - and Tony had disappeared as spontaneously as he had appeared - an evening with bird noises seemed like heaven. All the more since Clint did eat like a normal person.

 

Tony… had… somehow just vaporized the pizza straight out of the fridge and had claimed it had somehow ended up in his stomach… even if Sam had very severe doubts about that…

 

But well, back to Clint. Up to the third beer: things were fine.

 

But contrary to popular TV shows: a home made mainly of wood… is not a bullet prove place to be.

 

Sam didn’t know that Clint had come to him straight from a job. Neither of them was aware that Clint had been tracked. Sam didn’t really connect those things with the bullets that suddenly kept flying through his living room.

 

And they made it. Of cause. That’s what professional trained heroes do.

 

It might have helped that Clint is an excellent marksman.

 

But the home did not make it.

 

So Sam did get out the wings. Ignored Clints comments.

 

And just took of.

 

Because… he had lost a stove to this. He had lost three sets of drinking glasses. He had lost sleep to this. He had paid ridiculous amounts of money on food, only a small fraction of which he had actually eaten himself. His running costs had gone up like you would not believe it. Hulk had ruined his garden. Tony had ruined the sofa - or, as Tony preferred to put it, his blow torch had.

 

And now his home was _ever so slightly_ beyond the point where it could be fixed with some joint compound or some such.

 

Sam spend most of the next week… flying. Sleeping in motels by day. Flying by night.

 

He estimated that he had missed about four callers in that time. Seeing that by now they rarely bothered to even knock or check if he was actually home… a part of him wagered that maybe his absence was not even all that… noticeable.

 

Sam used up the power demand of a small city during this week - or rather his wings did.

 

But eventually he could think about couches and living rooms and food without the urge to strangle _something_.

 

It took another half week - which he spend on the couch of a friend, probably behaving just as badly as his visitors had at his place - till he could face his own home again.

 

It had rained in the mean time. And he was halfway sure that pulling the entire thing down and setting it up again would be the best option.

 

After all, he might not have all that much money now, but when he had left the army they had compensated him handsomely. And the bunch of splinters he pictured in his minds eye were still _his_ bunch of splinters. If it meant he had to live on a building site again, then so… be… it…

 

But his home looked normal… when he came back, late one evening.

 

Which was… a bit… strange.

 

He had spend part of the time trying to overcome the idea that he would accept any kind of help from his ever so constant visitors.

 

It was a pride thing. And because he did not want them to decide how his home had to look like in the end.

 

But this… was almost as good as new.

 

Okay, there was a new shade of paint on the outside. Still white, but with a beige tint to it. Most of all: no holes. Ones demands sank so low so very fast…

 

He landed in his garden, noticing… grass. Not the imprint of Hulk-shaped feet. But an even ground. And grass. And a pebble garden. With a… little make shift fountain imitating a stream. It was… peaceful.

 

He hesitated to open his own back door. He wasn’t worried about the interior. More that one of S.H.I.E.L.D.s people had gotten a hand on this and maybe secured the door with some electric wires or some such. It would explain a lot.

 

But the inside was fine too.

 

A new TV. Which was now the most prominent feature in the room. Occupying half of his living room wall. But well… who ever stayed here for more then three minutes learned that Sam loved movies. And TV Series. And… there was a small click which could have been anything, really, and a dim light went on. Sam only now noted discreetly placed lamps all over the place, giving it a kind of indirect, cozy, warm light.

 

“Hello Sir.” Came a voice from close by that sounded suspiciously like “Jarvis?”

 

“I am _Groot_.”

 

“Well, hello Groot.”

 

“ _I_ am Groot.”

 

“We covered that.” Sam looked around. This was probably the first time that he saw a tasteful green interior.

 

“I _am_ Groot.”

 

“You sound like a broken recording.” At which slow jazz started playing for about 30 seconds, a slight whizzing and the same 30 seconds played again, a slight whizzing sound and…

 

“You sound like a recording?” At least the whizzing stopped and the song continued playing.

 

He took a tentative look into his kitchen. There was a state of the art coffee machine. An oven that might even work without knocking out three fuses in a row.

 

“ _I am Groot_.”

 

“Unless you can make coffee I do not require that information again.”

 

And there was a different kind of whizzing as coffee obviously was getting prepared - without a mug in place. Sam acted more on instinct then anything else, only later realizing that he now probably owned his first complete set of matching flatware since… forever.

 

He was almost tempted to just lie down on the couch and see how long it would take for people to throw him out. But when he finally attempted the stairs to his bedroom… giggling broke forth. Followed by frantic whispers. Giggling. And people honest to god falling down his stairs. People he knew.

 

“Erm… Avengers assemble…?” He looked at the heap. “Oh, and hi Coulson.”

 

“I am Groot.”

 

“I think the sound system says ‘hi’ too…”

 

Which was the perfect opening to everyone sort of bragging in an offhanded way about what ever they had contributed to the re-decoration.

 

The garden had indeed been Banners work. The entertainment system was Starks idea - it indeed understood basic grammar, but because of limited processing power it was unable to produce some. Steve had replaced most of the broken exterior. Natasha and Clint had done the paint work. Bucky had done a basic security system. (The less you ask the better) And Coulsons present was a high end insurance policy. There was a well stocked liquor cabinet, courtesy to Mr. Xavier and his people. And some other surprises that Sam would come to unearth over the next few weeks.

 

Owning a safe house wasn’t all that bad after all.

 

Unfortunately all that input from various sources did not resolve Sams teaching-people-to-knock problem…

**Author's Note:**

> Not 100% what the prompt asked for.  
> But it is the product of a single evening.  
> I... kind of like it. In an abstract way.


End file.
